


The Scars You Leave Me

by Slytherin_Princess_Nysa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya and Dany are best friends, Best Friends, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Drama, Dramatic Gendry, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gendry is 21, Gendry is a Baratheon, Gendrya - Freeform, Humor, Jealousy, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, NaNoWriMo, Needy Arya, OTP Feels, Pain, Porn With Plot, Robberys, Romance, Sassy Arya Stark, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sneaking Around, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, True Love, Warg Arya Stark, arya is 16
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-04 22:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherin_Princess_Nysa/pseuds/Slytherin_Princess_Nysa
Summary: Arya Stark travels to her cousins wedding, riding alongside her father and brother, much to the annoyance of her sister. At six and ten, her sister thinks Arya should have grown out of her wild ways. But all Arya wants is adventure and freedom, not to be tied down to a stubborn bull who calls her Milady and just so happens to be her soulmate._________________________________________________________________________________Gendry knows that as the heir to Storm's End it's his duty to get married and have children. But he would rather stay in the forge than search for a wife. Especially when his options are all simpering little fools who only care for titles and wealth. When he arrives in King's Landing he expects more of the same, fluttering eyelashes and wandering hands.He doesn't expect Arya Stark.





	1. The Mark of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiana_MOTP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiana_MOTP/gifts), [comicx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comicx/gifts).

> I'm gifting this to my girls who are doing NaNoWriMo with me, group burial basically.
> 
> All characters belong to George RR Martin and GRRM only. This AU plot and idea is mine and all grammar mistakes belong to Ash and Kiana because who else would I blame?

**~Gendry Baratheon~**

When Gendry was five and his mother had still been alive, he had received his soulmate mark. He remembered the day clearly.

They had been breaking their fast early in the morning, his mother feeding his baby sister mashed carrots and peas while Myrcella sat in her special high chair and their mother stroked a gentle hand over her growing belly. Cella had their mother’s golden hair and Gendry tugged unhappily at a shaggy strand of black from the top of his head. Gendry had been munching on a thick slice of bacon, feet barely touching the ground as they waited for his father to brave his hangover in favour of food.

Robert went out every night, getting drunk on expensive wine that the Stormlands couldn’t afford and bedded a different whore in the town. Even as a young child, Gendry heard the rumors from the guards and servants that whispered in the halls of Storm’s End. Gendry saw his mother's tears, no matter how much she tried to hide them. It made him sick to his stomach and he promised himself everyday that he would be nothing like his father when he grew up.

He had been drinking from his cup of juice when the grease on his fingers caused the glass to slip through his hands and spill over the whole table and all over his embroidered tunic and leather vest. Staining it all and leaving behind a sticky mess.

Gendry had jumped out of the chair and his mother followed.

Gendry tried to wipe the growing stain away but couldn’t since it had seeped into his tunic. Celeste’s blonde hair was piled on the top of her head in a style Gendry didn’t understand or like but when she saw his trembling lip, she pulled the pins out, letting the loose waves drop over her shoulder so he could play with them while she carried him from the great hall.

He was a big boy for the age of five and Myrcella looked even smaller next to him, but his mother’s embrace made him feel like he was invincible. Like he was on top of the world as long as his mother could lift him up high enough.

His mother waved a maidservant to take care of Myrcella while she carried him, his sticky fingers weaving through her soft hair. She smelled like jasmine and Gendry wrapped his arms around her neck, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. He knew his mother wouldn’t care about her dress being dirty. She wasn’t like the snotty septa who took care of Myrcella.

Once they were in his rooms, she placed him gently on one of the chairs next to the fireplace. Her fingers worked quickly to undo the ties on his vest and then pulled his tunic over his head, leaving his hair sticking in every direction. Gendry giggled boyishly as his mother tried to pat his hair down.

Tilting his head, he watched her determined face. “Mama?”

“Yes, sweetling?” she asked him, her fingers carding through his messy hair soothingly. She rose from where she knelt on the ground and smoothed her wrinkled skirts down.

He kicked his feet out while his mother went to grab a clean shirt for him. “Why can’t Cella play outside with me?”

“Because she’s still a babe, Myrcella is only two namedays.” His mother explained kindly and Gendry pouted. He wanted to play with his little sister but he didn’t like playing inside, it always got so stuffy and boring inside, no matter how big Storm’s End was. “When she’s a bit older she can play with you.”

Suddenly his mother gasped and dropped the tunic she had been holding. Gendry hopped off the chair, scurrying to his mother. “What’s wrong, mama?”

“Turn around, sweetling.” Gendry inclined his head to look at her face, to make sure he hadn’t done anything to upset her, before doing as his mother bid.

Her fingers gingerly prodded his back and Gendry squirmed, shifting his feet. He didn’t like hearing his mother sound worried for him or upset, it reminded him too much of how his father made her feel. Celeste would come to his room at night sometimes, and she would sit with him when he woke up, hug him close and tell him he was the best thing in her life.

On those nights, Gendry knew his father had gone out into the town again and left his mother to mourn the husband she thought she had married.

She pulled something from his desk, the one he never really used because he was too small to do much of anything of use on it, and Gendry watched his kicking feet as his mother ran her fingers over his shoulder, prodding. “Mama?”

“Just a minute,” he heard the scratching of charcoal onto the paper in his mother’s lap. Gendry shifted on his legs, curiosity frustrating him.

Her hands were warm and soft when she turned him back around, pulling the clean tunic over his head with a toothy smile. She tucked the shirt into his trousers and tied the strings around his neck.

Celeste tapped her finger against the little blue bird taking flight on her delicate collarbone. “Do you know what this is?”

“It’s your soulmate mark.” he said, remembering his lessons with Maester Clayton.

“And what does that mean?”

“When two people are born,” Gendry resited. “They receive matching marks from the gods, that means those two people are destined for each other, to be each other’s other half and complete each other. Be each other’s strength and support one another when they’re weak.”

“That’s right, you’ve been paying attention to your lessons.” Celeste nodded. “But there’s something else. Not everyone finds their soulmate,” Gendry thought back to the strange yellow boat on his father’s nape. “Some of those people marry and they’re happy, content, but not complete. I don’t want you to marry someone because your father tells you it’s your duty or because you feel like they’re an alright fit. I want you to find your soulmate, someone who fits you perfectly, someone you couldn’t live without.”

“Okay, mama.”

“Promise me?” she coughed roughly into her hand and Gendry reached out to pat her shoulder a couple of times.

“I promise.”

Celeste smiled, a smile that Gendry only saw on her face when she was taking care of him and Myrcella or touching her swollen stomach. Gendry wondered if the only thing making his mother’s life content was her children.

Celeste whipped her blackened fingers on her skirts and held up the piece of paper she had been working on and Gendry chewed his bottom lip as he looked at the drawing there.

“It was on your left shoulder blade,” his mother sat on the ground in front of him, running her hand over his back as he studied the drawing.

Gendry knew he wouldn’t have been able to see it at all until he found his soulmate. Even then, it would have been hard to find her, no ladies wore dresses that showed their whole shoulder blade, it was improper. He never would have seen it on his own, not if his mother hadn’t sketched the tattoo on a spare sheet of parchment, that is.

It was a warhammer, sleek and with a pair of finely detailed antlers on the head, crossed with a thin sword, if the little thing could even be called a sword. A fine dusting of snow covered both weapons, shimmering silver when the light struck the ink, a sharp contrast to the black of the hammer and sword.

Gendry picked the drawing from his mother's outstretched hand, he leaned closer to her face, whispering into her ear, “Do you think she’s pretty?”

“Yes, sweetling, I know she is.” she stood from the floor and picked him up, resting him on her hip and Gendry continued to look at the drawing in his chubby little hands. “Only the prettiest girl for my wonderful boy.”

They walked back towards the great hall, Gendry tucking the drawing against his chest as his mother carried him. “Mama, when do I get to meet her?”

“I don’t know, but when you do, it’ll be the best adventure!” she peppered kisses over his cheeks and he giggled loudly.

His mother dropped him into his chair again, turning to sit back in her own chair next to Myrcella but she stopped, swayed on her feet and gripped the table edge. She coughed into her hand, her whole body shaking. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and Gendry saw a flash of a few drops of dark red on the white cloth.

“Mama, are you okay?” he asked, blinking his big blue eyes up at her.

“Yes, sweetling, I’m alright.” But she hadn’t been.

It was the only lie his mother had told him, a constant string of “I’m alright” and coughing fits that Gendry worried relentlessly over. His father hadn’t noticed until the very end that it was too late for Celeste, by then she was too delirius to notice anything going on around her. Robert hadn’t gotten to say goodbye, but Gendry had. He had sat by his mother’s bedside until the very end.

When Gendry was eight, Myrcella five and Tommen three, their mother had finally succumb to her illness and passed away. His father had always been cold towards his family, never getting over the fact that his Lady wife wasn’t Lyanna Stark but he had grown warmer to his children after Gendry’s mother had passed. Gendry wondered if it was out of guilt more than anything paternal.

Myrcella and Tommen missed their mother in the way that any child does when they grow up without one. Myrcella learned about manners and dresses from her Septa, not her mother and Tommen grew up without knowing the gentle touch of a mother, the kindness. But Gendry remembered her. He remembered her kind hands and loving smile, he dreamt about her laughter and her soft voice when she sang him to sleep. Cella and Tommen didn’t have any clear memories of her and sometimes, late at night when his heart ached from missing her, Gendry envied his siblings for it.

Before he had reached his five and ten nameday, Robert had started to invite possible lady wives for Gendry to entertain at Storm’s End every month. It felt like they were never ending. He met with ladies from small and large houses alike, short and tall, dark and light haired. But Gendry turned them all away without a second thought. None of them shared his mark, none of them were his.

He had made a promise to his mother that he would only marry the girl who belonged to him, and he to her. His soulmate was out there, waiting for him, wherever that might be.

Sometimes he thought about what she might look like, what she was like.

Would she have golden hair like the sun? Would her eyes be a wild forest green? Was her favourite colour a soft pink like his mothers? Would she ride on a horse beside him or sit in the wheelhouse with her ladies in waiting when they travelled?

He tried to picture a comely and quiet woman with braided hair and swift sewing fingers. The kind of woman his father had him entertain, the kind he was likeliest to meet in his highborn life, but it never felt right.

When he slept, Gendry wouldn’t picture what he knew he should be. He would see flashes of dark, knotted and wild hair. Pale skin covered in healed scars and fresh bruises. He would hear the high pitched laughter, like the sound of a rung bell, in his ears when he awoke. Leaving behind only the distant and fleeting memory of her.

“Gendry?” his head whipped to his side, Tommen was riding at his left and Gendry wondered how long his brother had been trying to talk to him. “You got lost in that head of yours again. I’ve always wondered what could possibly be up there to keep your attention for so long when the rest of us can’t but for a moment.”

Gendry rolled his eyes at the jests, “It so happens that none of you are interesting, so the duty of entertainment and civil conversations fall to me.”

“I’m hurt!” Tommen held his hand over his heart, clutching the fabric of his doublet. “I am very much hurt, brother. I would have thought the future Lord of the Stormlands would show kindness to his siblings at least, but alas…”

“Oh, shove off, you,” they were on the last stretch of their journey. Soon they would see the rising towers of the Red Keep. “What do you want, anyways?”

“Myrcella thinks we should stop and change our riding clothes before we reach the city,” Tommen rose his voice in a poor imitation of their prim sister. “We must look our best for the royal family and the other Lords and Ladies of Westeros.”

Gendry burst into laughter, glancing back at the wheelhouse in the middle of the Baratheon party heading to the royal wedding. “Sounds like her. I say that we have been travelling far too long for this damned wedding to be expected to show up in fine, clean leathers and pristine silk dresses.”

“I agree with you,” Tommen nodded, “ But I’m not telling Cella that.”

Already pulling the reins of his horse, Gendry turned away from leading the party down the Kingsroad, calling over his shoulder, “Of course you wouldn’t, bloody coward you are.”

“A good strategist knows when to fight and when to withdraw!”

Gendry pulled alongside the wheelhouse, knocking on the wooden panel. A moment later, the screen was slid open and Myrcella’s face appeared and the sound of giggles sounded from her serving maids. He rolled his eyes but didn’t comment further.

“We are almost at the city, at most another hour of travel and we will have reached the gates of the Red Keep.” Myrcella fanned herself and Gendry tried to picture his soulmate with a fan in her hand, but the image didn’t fit.

“Will we be stopping to refresh ourselves?” she asked, although by her defeated expression, Gendry knew she was sure of the answer.

“I’m afraid not, little sister. I’m tired from travel and my legs are about to fall asleep as I ride. The sooner we get to the Red Keep, the sooner all of us can have proper baths.” Myrcella’s face lit up at the idea of a bath and Gendry patted himself on the back mentally.

“Alright, but do at least change out of those muddy breeches.” before he could reply, the screen was shut and Myrcella had disappeared from his sight.

Riding back to the front, Gendry eyed Tommen. His younger brother was shorter than him and had their mother’s colouring, but his straight posture and stainless clothing gave away his importance. Gendry, on the other hand, looked more like a smallfolk masquerading as a Lord. His hair was arranged hazardous on his head from the wind, his boots and the bottoms of his trousers were sodden with drying mud from riding and he had abandoned the finely stitched clothing he had left Storm’s End with in favour of a worn and sturdy tunic and plain breeches.

“Myrcella is making us stop so you can change, isn’t she?” Gendry nodded wordlessly.

“You keep going, I’ll change quickly and catch up with you.” He rode away, watching Tommen turn to lead the party before he disappeared into the thick trees.

When he was far enough away from any prying eyes, Gendry gracefully jumped off his horse, pulling the saddle bag with his lordly clothing along with him. Unknotting the strings holding his tunic together and bunching it up and over his shoulders in one swift movement. Gendry pulled his trousers off slower, not wanting to get anymore mud on himself, or else Myrcella would force them to stop so he could bathe and they were too close to soft beds and good food for that delay. He was sad to see the comfortable clothing go, as he shrugged and kicked them all off before tugging on the clothing that would please his siblings and the other highborn lords and ladies in King’s Landing. Not bothering to fold any of the dirty clothing, Gendry shoved the discarded tunic and trousers into the satchel and tied it closed so nothing would fall out on the road. Lest he be stuck wearing fine clothing the entire trip.

He wrapped his hand around the reins and stepped his foot into the hold, ready to hoist himself up. But before he could hop back onto his horse, Gendry heard a low growl from the thicket. Stepping away from his horse and turning slowly towards the sound, Gendry seamlessly reached over to the sword strapped on his saddle and withdrew the blade. The sound of steel being drawn rung out in the clearing and Gendry felt the unease of his horse heighten.

Taking a slow step towards the bushes, Gendry’s grip on the sword tightened almost painfully, the leather grip biting into his hand. A rather large part of his mind wondered why he hadn’t just gotten on his horse and rode away as soon as he had heard the threatening growl in the first place. But another part of him, albeit a very small part, was telling him that something important was going to happen.

Perhaps being eaten in the woods was his destiny. If it was, at least he would be armed when it happened. That had to count for something.

The snap of a twig set his nerves on fire, the sound of breathing was getting louder the closer he came to the bushes and Gendry cursed himself for being an idiot and not escaping when he had the chance. A sudden burst of grey came out of the bush, a large wolf sprung from its hiding place, baring its teeth at Gendry with earnest.

Gendry’s breath caught in his throat, choking him. The wolf was huge, almost the size of his horse. With thick fur and sharp teeth, Gendry was having a hard time remembering that he was about to become a meal when such a magnificent creature stood in front of him. Gendry and his mother had read about direwolves and giants and Others when he was a child, he had thought them all extinct or living beyond the wall. He had never thought to meet one.

His grip had wavered and he stood staring, his mind screaming at him that he was a complete moron and should be fighting for his life, not trying to decide the exact shade of the wolf’s fur. The wolf sniffed the air, stepping closer to him, pink nose nudging his hand.

Gendry didn’t know 

The sword in his hand slipped between his fingers and fell into the dirt at his feet. He reached out his hand, tentatively. The tips of his shaking fingers touched the rough fur on her snout. His breath hitched when the wolf turned her sharp eyes his face, and Gendry waited for her to go for his throat but it never came. She turned her head into his hand and Gendry breathed deeply through his nose.

He pet the side of her face, a smile tugging on his lip. Gendry bent at the knee, uncaring about the state of his knees as he leveled his face with the wolf’s.

“Aren’t you just the most beautiful creature?” Gendry pulled his hand away, readying himself to stand and she whined. “I’m sorry girl, but I have to go back to my brother and sister.” The wolf inclined her head in curiosity, “My pack.”

She sniffed his receding hand again, before turning on her heels and stomping out of the clearing. Gendry thought it looked remarkably like the tantrums Tommen used to throw when he was a baby and couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to eat honey pies for every meal. Her tail disappeared into the bushes.

Gendry stood from his perch and dusted his knees off, happy to see there wasn’t any stains on the thick fabric. Turning swiftly, Gendry marched back to his startled horse and hopped into the saddle, turning only to see if the wolf had come back. Not seeing any sign of her, he pulled the reins tightly and turned the horse towards the Kingsroad again.

Galloping down the dirty path, Gendry caught up to the Baratheon party rather quickly. He rode past the wheelhouse and the group of guards on either side, reaching the front where Tommen was laughing at something Edric Storm was saying.

Their bastard brother was working his way into knighthood. Edric spent his days training with stormland knights, drinking with his training friends and having the freedom that Gendry wished he did. And try as he might, Gendry envied his freedom.

Gendry loved his brother and sister, he even loved Edric when he wasn’t being an annoyance. But sometimes it all felt like too much. The manners, the meetings with lords, the straight posture and constant scrolls he had to answer about supplies and whatever else the stormland lords wanted. All Gendry wanted was to spend time with his siblings and pound away on chunks of steel to create something useful, something simple.

“I think we lost him fully this time,” he heard Edric. “How are we supposed to be introduced to the royal court without our Lord Baratheon?”

“I’m not Lord Baratheon yet,” they were nearing the city gates. “Father is still alive and well, I have many years until I have to take the mantle from him.”

“Alive, yes, well? Questionable.” Tommen muttered.

Edric snorted, “Oh the legacy our father will leave behind.”

“It’s definitely something for the history books.”

The city gates were open, having seen the Baratheon banners coming up the Kingsroad. Targaryen guards were stationed on each of the stone tower arches, overlooking the entrance to the courtyard. The smallfolk were lined up along the streets, watching the newest highborn party coming into the city for the wedding of Princess Rhaenys to Joffrey Lannister. Gendry watched them, like rats scurrying to get a better view. They were dirty and overworked, like all smallfolk, but they looked happier and better fed than his father said the smallfolk were during the reign of King Aerys, the Mad King.

With a title like that, Gendry wasn’t surprised that his own son had killed him to protect the city and all the people living in it from wildfire.

The crowd thinned the closer they got to the Red Keep, the common people being replaced by wealthy merchants and tradesmen who only gave them passing, calculating looks as they rode by. Trying to figure out who they could use to rise in station and make more gold. Gendry prefered the smallfolk, the ones who were hardworking and didn’t look at other people like a walking bag of coins.

The guards nodded as they rose into the Red Keep courtyard and Gendry watched the rising towers of stone and steel become bigger with each measured step of his horse. He could see the lineup of highborns waiting to welcome the Baratheon party. The golden heads of the Lannisters stood out starkly even against the unusually sunny summer day. Two white blonde heads shown through the gathered highborns and guards.

Princess Rhaenys stood beside her betrothed, Joffrey Lannister, who was much shorter and thinner than Gendry had been lead to believe. The reports he had received made Joffrey out to be as tall and broad as the Mountain had been. But this boy was sickly thin, shaggy hair hanging over his face and a look of complete disinterest.

King Rhaegar stood beside his dark haired wife and son, arm wrapped around Queen Lyanna’s waist and the other hand was settled over Prince Jon’s shoulder. Prince Aegon and the King’s sister, Princess Daenerys, were missing from the welcome lineup. Gendry wasn’t offended but he knew that if his father was here, he would have thrown the word ‘disrespect’ more than once towards the Targaryens. Then again, Robert Baratheon’s standards for the royal family were higher than anyone else's.

Gendry pulled his horse to a stop before gracefully, as much as he could manage with his hulking body, slid off the saddle. His men followed, his brothers first and then the guards who had loyally served his House and protected him and his family on the Kingsroad. The wheelhouse stopped just short of Lady Cersei and Ser Jaime, and Myrcella was helped out by one of the closest guardsmen.

Out of all the Baratheon siblings, Myrcella looked the most dignified. Straight backed, perfectly styled blonde hair piled on top of her head and under a pink cap with bright flowers sewn into the fabric, her dress was the same shade of dusty pink and Tomen reached out his hand to help her down the final steps. Ever the well-mannered gentleman.

Gendry stepped towards the King and his family, bowing at his waist and lowering his head in a sign of respect. “Your Grace, thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

King Rhaegar nodded his head. “Thank you for attending the wedding of my daughter, Lord Baratheon.” Gendry chose not to correct him that his father was still the reigning Lord of the Stormlands. “I would like to introduce my wife, Queen Lyanna Stark, our son, Prince Jon, and my daughter, Rhaenys. I apologize for the absence of my sister and other son. Daenerys still has not arrived for the wedding and Aegon left early for a hunt and hasn’t returned yet.”

Gendry pays his respects to the royal family individually, shaking Prince Jon’s hand and kissing the back of the Queen’s before turning back to the King. “It is no offense, Your Grace. I’m afraid we aren’t in the most presentable condition so being introduced to two less members of the royal family is coming as a blessing. But I would like to introduce my sister, Lady Myrcella Baratheon, and my brothers, Lord Tommen Baratheon, and Edric Storm.”

He knew it wasn’t proper to introduce his bastard brother to the King but Edric was part of his family and he wasn’t going to leave him out of the proper meeting. Myrcella curtsied, skirts flaring out delicately. Tommen and Edric bowed, bending their knees before rising. King Rhaegar smiled at the three of them, giving a small nod in recognition.

“This is the Lady Cersei,” she was beautiful but there was a dark glint in her green eyes that set Gendry on edge. “Her brother, Lord Jaime,” Gendry shook the man’s hand, there was a sadness in his face that made Gendry curious about what weighed him down. “And the Lord Joffrey, my future son-in-law.”

“It’s my pleasure to meet you all,” Gendry and his highborn siblings were escorted into the Red Keep, waving goodbye to Edric as his bastard brother disappeared with the other knights from the Stormlands.

They were led to the dining hall. High arches and floor to ceiling stain glass windows lined the walls of the room, letting in rainbow coloured light to flood over the table. It was covered in different types of food and Gendry’s mouth watered at the sight of so much food laid out in front of him.

They lined up behind the high backed chairs, waiting for King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna to sit at the head of the table before they all took their seats and waited for their wine glasses to be filled by the passing servants. Gendry held his hand over the top of his cup, not wanting to indulge in alcohol on his first night in King’s Landing.

“Do you not like the vintage?” Lady Cersei asked, an eyebrow raised high in faux question. “Would you like some arbor gold? I know that’s the type your father enjoys and I’m sure the King could open his stores to you.”

He felt Tommen freeze beside him and he reached over to squeeze his forearm under the table and felt his brother relax into the hold. “That’s very kind of you, my Lady, but I’m afraid I am not much of a drinker. I don’t much like the taste.”

“How noble of you,” Queen Lyanna cut in. “I respect a man who knows his limits.”

“Thank you, My Queen.” Queen Lyanna smiled kindly before turning back to her son.

Light conversation flowed between them. Inquiries about family members who hadn’t accompanied them to King’s Landing (Gendry made an excuse about his father being ill and Lady Cersei brushed off the questions concerning her youngest brother), interesting rumours about Lords and Ladies that weren’t present, and passingly pleasant talk of the weather and trade between Essos and Westeros.

Dinner was coming to an end, Gendry having found a comfortable foothold of talking to his brother and Prince Jon. Jon, as he continually asked Gendry to call him, was interesting in a way that other highborns lacked. He wasn’t wearing obnoxiously fine clothing like Joffrey or even King Rhaegar, his smile was easy and his voice was genuine. Gendry thought the two of them could be fast friends.

“Pardon the interruption, Your Grace,” a man wearing the white cloak of the kingsguard stood in the now open doorway and Gendry recognized Ser Barristan from his description in the history books and a visit Ser Barristan had paid the Baratheons when Tommen had been born years ago, to pay his respects to his liege Lords and their new son.

“Ser Barristan, what has you in such a hurry, my friend?”

Ser Barristan spoke clearly and Gendry sipped his water. “We received word from Lord Stark, my King. The Stark travel party has elected to rest for the night on account of the Ladies traveling with them but they will arrive early in the morrow.”

“Thank you, Ser Barristan.”

Gendry didn’t notice when Ser Barristan had disappeared or when normal conversation had resumed at the dinner table, all he felt was the slight tingling sensation on his shoulder blade. Right over his soulmate mark.


	2. Burning Skin, Soft Destinies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update schedule is currently one to two times a week

[edits I made for this story](https://www.instagram.com/p/B4iLPV6nf8M/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)

* * *

**~Arya Stark~**

The ride to King’s Landing could be described as boring at best.

Arya was riding at the front of the travelling party, between Robb and her father. A kindness that she wouldn’t receive if her mother had been travelling with them. Catelyn had stayed behind with baby Rickon and Bran to maintain order in Winterfell and the North while the rest of the Starks travelled to King’s Landing for the Princess’ wedding. Her mother staying behind was something Arya was eternally grateful for, she couldn’t stand riding in the stuffy wheelhouse for hours on end with her airheaded sister and Sansa’s cruel best friend. She was better off riding besides Robb.

“Where did Nymeria and Grey Wind run off to?” her father prodded. “I would hate to have to explain why wolves were mauling villagers along the Kingsroad to the King.”

“Nymeria does not attack people unless they threaten me or attack her first, father,” Arya had trained her wolf to be an alpha, a leader and protector of the pack, not a senseless killer. “She’s out hunting for her dinner.”

“Grey Wind is scouting ahead.” Robb commented passingly, attention drawn elsewhere.

Arya reached over to nudge his arm. “Are you okay, big brother?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Arya pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. “Do you ever get a feeling-”

“Never,” Arya nodded seriously. “I live my life in a constant state of numbness.”

Robb rolled his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. “Do you only ask me questions so you can ignore me and make fun?”

“Exclusively.” She laughed at the exasperated expression Robb was wearing. “Alright, seriously, what is going on with you? You’ve been lost in your head since yesterday.”

“Have you ever had dreams?” Arya opened her mouth, but Robb cut in before she could. “About your soulmate, I mean.”

Breathing in deeply, Arya glanced down at her hands, nervously fixing her riding gloves. “No, outside the ones I share with Nymeria, I don’t remember my dreams. What do you see when you have these dreams?”

“I never see her face, it’s just glimpses of her. A flash of light hair and sometimes I can hear her laughter when I wake up.” he rubbed his wrist, where Arya knew he kept his soulmark wrapped in white fabric, away from the prying eyes of their siblings. Much like she did.

“Do you think that means you’re close to finding her?”

A hopeful grin lit up his face, scrunching up the corners of his eyes and straightening his shoulders. “I hope so. What about you, little Arya Underfoot? Do you feel like you’re going to meet your soulmate soon?”

“I hope not!” she laughed. “Or mother will have me married off to him before I can properly meet him. I suspect she already has my wedding planner, she just needs a groom.”

“You’ve never shown us your mark.” he glanced at her back. “I know mother and father and Maester Luwin have all seen it from when you were born but you’ve always covered it up around the rest of us.”

“It’s on my shoulder blade, Robb. Should I galavant around Winterfell in backless dresses like they do in Dorne?” Arya shrugged away his inquiries.

“I have a feeling that even if your mark was on your forehead you wouldn’t let us see it.” He tapped his chin in faux thought. “Almost like you don’t want any of us to know what it looks like so even if we found your soulmate, we wouldn’t recognize him.”

“Sometimes I think you’re too perceptive for your own good, big brother.” Arya shook her head. “Let us hope your soulmate is not equally as determined and suspicious as you.”

He pulled his hand over his heart, “That’s hurtful of you, little one.”

Arya sighed, rolling her eyes. She turned her head trying to find Nymeria. “I’m six and ten, for gods sake, when are you going to stop calling me that?”

“Never,” Robb reached over and squeezed her hand. “No matter how old you get, you will always be my baby sister.”

“I can’t decide if that’s sweet or demeaning.”

“Both.”

Ned pulled his horse back beside Arya’s, having disappeared to check on Sansa in the wheelhouse. “What are the two of you talking about?”

“Have any of the men spotted Nymeria anywhere?” Arya turned in her saddle, head whipping from side to side in search for her wolf. “She’s been acting strange since yesterday when she came back from her hunt.”

“Strange how?”

“Like she’s looking for something and can’t find it.” Arya spotted Grey Wind coming out of the bushes with a dead rabbit caught in his teeth, Nymeria coming out behind him with a chunk of deer hanging out of her jaw. “She keeps nudging my-”  _ soul mark _ she finished mentally.

“Your?” Robb baited.

“My hands, I think she just wants attention since I haven’t been able to ride with her recently. I’m sure it’s nothing but her being needy.” Robb looked at her in disbelief but Arya wasn’t focused on the looks her father and brother were exchanging.

Nymeria had been late coming back to the travel party yesterday and when she had come back, she had whined and curled up beside Arya like she was a pup again, nudging her shoulder whenever Arya would stop petting her. Last night, Arya had just thought that Nymeria was being clingy and wanted attention for nothing else than the sake of getting belly scratches. But now, Arya was wondering what Nymeria was trying to tell her.

Perhaps Arya had been having dreams and Nymeria had been seeing them?

“Arya?” she felt a hand drop on her shoulder. “I have been calling you for some time now. Are you alright, Arya?”

“Hm? I’m sorry, father, were you asking me something?”

“I was telling you that your sister asked that you would change into one of the dresses your mother packed before we arrive into the city.” Before he could finish, Arya was already shaking her head in denial.

“Oh, no, no.” Robb tried to cover his snort with a cough. “I look fine and Aunt Lyanna and Jon won’t be offended in the least by my riding clothes.”

“The two of them might not be, but the rest of the court could be.” her brother commented, trying to be diplomatic.

“If the Queen and Crowned Prince aren’t offended, why should I care if a few stuck up highborns are?” she could picture her mother shaking her head in disappointment but she couldn’t bring herself to care, to cover herself from head to toe in pretty fabric and speak pleasantries that she doesn’t mean.

Although she may be bias, her favourite royals were Queen Lyanna and Prince Jon or, as she was allowed to call them, Aunt Lya and Cousin Jon. Their opinions of her were the only ones that mattered and she knew they didn’t care. The two of them had come to visit Winterfell on several occasions, bringing the King with them once for Ned’s birthday a year ago. She hadn’t met the rest of the royal family, none of the Starks had but she supposed they would now. The King hadn’t wanted to stir negative emotions in the northmen since the last time any Targaryen had been North was during Rhaegar’s Rebellion.

Her father sighed, defeated and accepting her stubborn ways. “Alright, but if your mother hears about this and she will then you get to deal with her.”

“As always,” they passed through the city gates quickly, Nymeria and Grey Wind at the heels of their masters. The smallfolk cowered away and whispered loudly amongst themselves about the wild Stark children and their beasts.

Arya kept her eyes ahead, not bothering to look at the scared smallfolk talking about her family and their wolves. She knew Nymeria and Grey Wind would never hurt anyone unless they were commanded to by her or Robb or someone hurt their family. Wolves were pack animals and they took care of their own, they weren’t mindless monsters.

“Maybe you should have left Nymeria and Grey Wind in Winterfell with the rest of the wolves.” Jory Cassel called from behind her and Robb. “Lady Sansa might have been right in leaving Lady behind.”

Arya turned in her saddle, glaring at the captain of the guard. “Shut up, Jory.”

They entered the courtyard, Nymeria moving to walk quickly in front of Arya’s horse. They rode in and Arya spotted her aunt and favourite cousin. As soon as she was close enough, Arya jumped off her horse and hurried towards Jon.

Her cousin was already down the stairs and had his arms outstretched for her. Arya threw herself into his embrace with a girlish squeal, wrapping her arms around his neck and kicking her legs out as Jon spun her. He laughed in her ear and Arya pulled away to look into his face.

“Look at you!” he was grinning broadly, pride shining in his face. “You have grown so big since I last saw you. And your hair isn’t chopped up to your ears anymore.” Jon tugged on a strand of her dark hair.

“Of course, I’ve grown! In size and hair!” Jon set her down, her head dropping below his collar bones and she frowned at how short she still was compared to him.

Jon pressed kisses into her cheeks, lifting her off her feet again. “My baby cousin!”

Arya shrugged out of his arms and pushed at his chest, groaning, “When will you and Robb stop treating me like I’m a child?”

“Never, little sister,” Robb’s arm dropped around her shoulders before he turned back to Jon, making a ridiculous show of bending into a quick bow. “How are you, dear cousin?”

Jon yanked Robb into a tight embrace, leaving Arya in the middle of their hug, flailing for freedom and leaving the two of them to laugh at her. Arya struggled out of their arms with a laugh and glances around the courtyard for her aunt.

Aunt Lya was wrapped up in Ned’s arms, the two were whispering into each other’s ears, looking happy to be within arms reach of each other. Arya wondered how it would feel to have her brothers living so far away, to only see them once a year. She glanced back at Robb. What if whoever she married lived in Dorne or the furthest edge of the Reach? Far, far away from her brothers and parents.

She knew it was her duty, as Sansa liked to repeat, to marry whoever her parents deemed important enough for her. Even if that man lived as far away from Winterfell as possible.

Arya shook herself out of her reverie. Robb and Jon were in the midst of an animated explanation of one thing or another, waving their hands around. Arya tried to follow their conversation but something was tugging at the back of her head, a strange tingling sensation passing over her mind and bleeding down her neck and over her shoulders.

Aunt Lya was introducing her father to the rest of the court and Arya spotted Nymeria and Grey Wind sitting off to the side of the courtyard, pouting. Arya held up her hand and waved Nymeria over. Her wolf perked up immediately, trotting over to her with her tongue lolling out of her mouth. Arya knelt on the ground, reaching out to welcome Nymeria into her arms.

Nymeria was big when Arya was standing beside her, but she looked like a monstrous wolf when she was on the ground. When she was looking up at her, Arya could understand why people were afraid of Nym. But Arya never could be. To her, Nymeria would always be the pup who warmed her feet at night.

“Hello, sweet girl,” Arya scratched behind Nymeria’s ear. “I know you don’t like the South or this city, by the looks of it, but we had to come for the Princess’ wedding and we will be on the road back to Winterfell before you know it.”

Nymeria sat back on her haunches, tilting her head to the side in question, as if asking Arya to promise that they won’t stay in the dry climate forever.

Arya leaned up to press a kiss on Nym’s nose, speaking into her best friend’s fur. “I promise I’ll take you riding whenever I can get away from the vultures at court.”

Nymeria’s head popped up and over Arya’s shoulder, Arya turned towards the approaching shadow just as her aunt stopped behind her. “Am I one of the vultures or am I allowed to join my niece on her rides?”

“You’re always welcome to join me, Aunt Lya,” Arya stood from her low perch in front of Nymeria. Lyanna wrapped her arms around her tightly and Arya buried her face in her aunt’s neck. “Who else could keep up with me?”

Lyanna hummed, pulling back and tucking in stray hairs behind Arya’s ears, “Maybe that son of mine? He has been bouncing off the castle walls since your father wrote back to tell us he was bringing you and your brother with him to the wedding. I’m afraid Jon is much more a northman at heart than a proper prince like Aegon.”

“I can’t tell if that’s pride or disappointment, mother.” Jon and Robb had made their way to the hugging women. “What do you think?”

They looked so different, Arya thought. Robb was rough, his thick fur cloak had been abandoned along the road but his plain leathers were a distinct contrast to the fine clothes Aegon and Jon wore. Even if Jon wore simpler clothes than the King, he was still obviously highborn while Robb looked like a wealthy man but not enough to be the next Warden of the North.

“I think it is meant as a compliment, brother, the question is,” Aegon walked down the steps towards his half brother and the Starks. “Towards which one of us is the compliment.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, the both of you,” Arya turned to them fully. “Clearly it’s an insult towards the both of you idiots. You dress like a pompous bird,” she pointed at Aegon before turning her attention to Jon. “And you look like you have been running away from the royal hairdresser all your life.”

“I am offended, cousin,” Aegon placed his hand over his heart. “And here I was thinking that you loved me.” Jon nodded in agreement.

“I do when you aren’t being idiots.”

Aegon was her cousin through marriage, not blood, his mother had passed away with Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys during the rebellion and Rhaegar had married Lyanna shortly after. But Aegon had been part of her life since Arya could remember. He was family just as much as Jon and Lyanna were. Even King Rhaegar.

Lyanna rolled her eyes and pulled Arya by the shoulders around the boys, “Let me introduce you to everyone and leave these three so they can be immature on their own.”

“Very bold of you to overestimate my maturity, Aunt Lya.”

Arm in arm, they made their way to the impatient Lannisters waiting to for propriety to be introduced to the Starks. Arya could see her father talking with the King further down the line of highborns waiting to meet the Starks.

“You know my husband,” Lyanna gestured vaguely towards where Rhaegar was talking with Ned and Ayra laughed. “Unfortunately you know both of my sons as well. Let me introduce you to some civilized people.”

They stopped in front of Princess Rhaenys and her Lannister fiancé. The Princess was regal and straight face, hand tucked into the arm Joffrey held out. Rhaenys was soft, small slopes and dips formed her features, nothing like the sharp jaw and high cheekbones Arya had. Rhaenys’ hair fell to her waist in perfectly soft waves, beautifully white against the tight bodice of her red gown. Nothing like the mousy brown hair Arya had pulled into a braid, messed by the wind and hanging around her face.

“Rhaenys, you know your cousin, Arya.” Arya tried her best to copy the curtsy Rhaenys gave but even she knew it was a poor replica. Joffrey snorted and Arya ground her teeth. She knew she wasn’t a Lady in any way other than being the daughter of a Lord but she didn’t need Joffrey Lannister making her feel worse for not being like Sansa.

Rhaenys smiled sweetly and Arya tried to calm the embarrassed blush covering her face. “My Lady Arya, it’s a pleasure to welcome you into our home.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Arya tried to remember the courtesies her mother had taught her that she had tried so hard to forget. “My family and I are honoured to be here for your wedding.”

“I am glad that you and Lord Stark could make it,” Rhaenys turned towards Joffrey. Arya watched Joffrey step forward, hand against the small of Rhaenys’ back. “We both are.”

“Yes, Lady Arya,” Joffrey looked down her body, at the travel worn trousers and tunic, with a sneer. “You are sure to be entertaining addition to our wedding and Rhaenys and I are very pleased to see you and your family here.”

He reached towards her hand and Arya bit her lip to keep from grimacing as Joffrey picked up her gloved hand and, blissfully, gave it a slight shake. She knew it was because he didn’t want to kiss a dirty glove or sweaty hand and Arya was immensely grateful. She couldn’t imagine having his slimy lips on her skin.

They moved away from Joffrey and Rhaenys, leaving Arya to take a quick breath of relief before the next set of vultures. Queen Lyanna inclined her head towards the most terrifying woman Arya had ever seen. “Arya, this is Lady Cersei Lannister, Joffrey’s mother and the Lady of Casterly Rock.”

“My Lady,” Arya self consciously straightened her overcoat, trying to subtly check for any obvious mud stains. Something told Arya that Lady Cersei was the one person she couldn’t afford to look like a mess in front of. Not in court and not anywhere else.

Lady Cersei was beautiful. Long tresses the colour of molten gold, calculating eyes that reminded Arya of an emerald bracelet King Rhaegal had sent Sansa for her birthday last year, and the most expensive dress Arya had ever seen. Even in comparison to the Dornish silk Queen Lyanna wore, but Arya supposed that was Cersei’s point, to outdo even the Queen.

“Lady Arya,” Cersei narrowed her eyes as she looked at Arya as Lyanna led her away. Arya knew she didn’t like what she saw. For the first time, Arya wished she had been a delicate little Lady like Sansa or Jeyne Poole. Then she wouldn’t have to feel like a wolf in a court of sheep. Or, she glanced back at Cersei, lions.

Arya was busy staring at the toes of her scuffed boots when they stopped in front of the next group of people. Lyanna pressed a reassuring hand to her arm and Arya glanced behind her. Robb, Jon and Aegon were still talking in their little huddle. Nymeria had run back to keep Grey Wind company. Ned and Rhaegar had moved to talk to Jory and direct the Stark guards that had come with them on their journey.

“This is Lord Gendry Baratheon and his siblings, Lord Tommen and Lady Myrcella.” Arya turned at the sound of her aunt’s voice.

Arya looked away from her family and back to the Lord of the Stormlands. And then she was drowning, or maybe she was on fire. She couldn’t tell the difference. Her shoulder was on fire, burning like she had been submerged in Mikken’s forge fires, pins and needles spreading over her shoulder blade, over her soulmate mark and down her arm.

Past the fire there was cool water.

When she had been a little girl, Arya remembered going swimming in the river past Wintertown with her brothers. They had had a competition of who could hold their breath the longest underwater and Arya remembered how clear everything had been under water. She remembered the dumbness in her mind, the humm in her ears. That’s what it felt like now, falling deeper and deeper into the depthless blue eyes looking back at her.

It was like Gendry Baratheon was the only person in the world. Distantly, Arya knew that wasn’t true but blinking up at him, it certainly felt like he was.

Shaggy black hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes, Arya could see a constellation of freckles on his collar. He was so impressively tall and broad, shadowing over her and the Queen alike, nothing like scrawny little Joffrey. Arya saw him with a silvery glow surrounding him, she wondered if he saw her like that too.

Arya saw Lord Tommen elbowed his brother in the ribs, as discreetly as he tried to make it look. Gendry held out his hand and Arya reached out to take it without hesitation. There was a jolt when their fingers touched, racing up her wrist, it was how she imagined lightning to feel.

He pulled her hand up gently, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. Arya’s breath hitched at the feel of his lips. They were warm and chapped and she wondered if that’s how they would feel on hers. She shook herself out of the thought.

“Lord Baratheon, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” she squeezed his fingers lightly, subconsciously, before releasing his hand.

Gendry shook his head quickly and Arya’s eyes widened when he spoke. “No, My Lady, the pleasure is all mine.”

His voice was deep, comforting and Arya felt the genuine kindness there. It was refreshing to meet someone in his position of power who wasn’t egotistical and pompous. Nothing like the men Sansa and Jeyne entertained at Winterfell with hopes and dreams of finding their soulmates among them.

Arya froze.

Arya liked to think that she was smart and perceptive, not just for her age but in general. The burning in her shoulder and the strange, almost hypnotic way she had fallen into his eyes told her it wasn’t just an attraction. There was something else between them, something undefinable and deep. A something that scared Arya to the bone.

Soulmate.

If anyone saw her interest in the young Lord, her mother was sure to hear of it and if Catelyn Stark thought her wild daughter was showing a liking to anyone, Arya would be married off before she could blink. And she couldn’t let that happen - not without knowing him, hell, not at all if she could help it.

Soulmate bonds were supposed to point you to the person who was your other half, a person to complete you. But what if whatever magic created the soulmate bond also created a connection that wouldn’t be there otherwise? Her parents were soulmates but she knew her grandparents hadn’t been and they had had a long and happy marriage. And she knew a lot of people never found their soulmate, if he was her soulmate at all.

She twisted her face into a frown, dropping her eyes to the little scratch on his jaw. Arya wondered how he got it. Did he get it playing as a child? Or maybe it was a riding accident?

“I’m sure we will be seeing more of each other around court, My Lady.”

Arya kept her face unmoved, no matter how her heart hammered against her ribcage at the sound of his hopeful inquiry. “I’m afraid I’m not very present in court, My Lord.”

Arya pulled Lyanna down the line, forcing a smile on her face as they passed Lord Gendry. And she swore to herself, she would not be looking back.


	3. Sunlight

**~Gendry Baratheon~**

Arya Stark.

That was her name. His soulmate, his other half, the one person who belonged to him and who he belonged to entirely. And she was avoiding him like he had contracted a disease since meeting her two days ago.

Gendry had only seen her once since their meeting at her arrival, that same night at dinner with the King. She had sat quietly between her brother and sister, letting her red haired sister do all the talking. Something which the older Stark sister was acutely gifted at, going on and on about one thing or another with his sister or the Princess.

Anytime Gendry would try to start a conversation with the pretty little thing who owned him, heart and soul, she would look _ through _ him and reply with cold, chipped one-word answers. At first he had thought that she was just tired from her travels, but when she spoke to her brother or either of her royal cousins, she would be warm and sweet.

She didn’t like him. His own soulmate couldn’t even look at him.

Was he not what she had wanted? Was he too tall? Did his looks not please her?

But the Gods would not be so cruel as to give him the Maiden herself as his soulmate and make her loathe him, would they?

Arya Stark was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was tiny, not just in comparison to him, her head barely reached his chest. But she was fiery and filled with life. From her grey eyes, that reminded him of his fondest memories in the forge, to her trim waist and the gentle slope of her swan like neck. Gendry liked her hair and the pout on her plump lips when her brother or cousins would tease her.

All his dreams of deep forests and the sweetest laughter were running through his mind, playing on repeat like a blissful daydream he never wanted to wake up from. The constant heat over his shoulder blade was a reminder that she was real, not just an imaginary being that he could never touch, never call his own.

But Arya was indifferent to him in every way.

Was it possible that she was his soulmate but he wasn’t hers? He had never read about such a thing happening and his mother had never mentioned it, but Gendry wondered if this would be his penance for the sins of his father. Robert had been married to a kind and beautiful woman and he had treated her like nothing more than a piece of property, perhaps the Gods had decided the son did not deserve the chance to repeat his father's crimes.

Gendry begged the Gods, staring into the bottom of his water glass with a hopeless frown on his face, he begged them to give him a chance. _ Please, please just give me a chance. Let me prove I can be a better man than my father. For her _.

But when he raised his head, Arya was still lost in one of the tall tales her brother was telling Jon, completely unfazed by the brooding Stormlands Lord, and Gendry’s prayers had been left unanswered.

Tommen coughed and Gendry turned towards his brother with a, what felt like permanent, frown etched into his face. “Keep staring at her like that and she’ll catch on fire,” he teased and Gendry’s eyes widened.

“I wasn’t-”

“You were.” Tommen cut in. He turned to look at Arya, looking her up from the top of her hair and down to where the rest of her body disappeared underneath the table, his eyes lingering a beat too long on her covered breasts. “And that’s more than fine, she’s a pretty girl.” Gendry growled low in his throat, glaring at his younger brother and Tommen froze. “Did you just… growl at me?”

Gendry shook himself, shocked at the surge of jealousy raging in his veins at the thought of anyone looking at Arya like that. “Of course not, that would be ridiculous.”

“What would be ridiculous is my brother being smitten with a girl he met mere hours ago,” Gendry’s eyes searched out Arya, watching her pop a grape into her mouth. “Unless it wasn’t just because she’s pleasant to look at.”

“What are you trying to imply, Tommen?” He rolled his shoulders, feeling his soulmate mark rub against the fabric of his tunic.

Tommen’s eyes fell to Gendry’s back, “I’m suggesting that you and Lady Arya have the same itch on your shoulders.”

“I-” Gendry stuttered. “I don’t…”

“I’m not an idiot, Gendry. You have been drooling over the little wolf since she jumped off her horse and you’ve barely eaten,” he nodded towards Gendry’s full plate. “You’ve been sitting there like a kicked pup.”

“She doesn’t like me.” Gendry admitted, pushing meat and vegetables around his plate with his fork, flicking his wrist in agitation. He looked up at the sound of Arya’s laughter. “She doesn’t seem affected by the bond at all, unlike me.”

“You don’t know that,” Tommen tried to comfort him. “She’s seeing the rest of her family for the first time in months, I’m sure she will seek you out in the days to come when she has spent time with them.”

“I hope you’re right,” and he really did because Gendry felt like his heart was turning morose with every passing minute that he wasn’t with Arya.

In the next few days, Gendry was on edge. He waited with bated breath for Arya to be ready to speak to him or acknowledge him in the slightest but she didn’t. She passed him in the halls without a glance and spent her days riding with her aunt and someone called Nymeria or sparring with her brother, Jon and Aegon. Something that shocked and amazed Gendry when he heard to no end.

He hadn’t gotten to see her fight yet, being tied down by responsibilities to the court and other visiting Lords that should have been his father’s. But he heard much about Arya’s unladylike behavior from Myrcella, who had heard even more from Lady Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole during afternoon tea. Although Myrcella was not vindictive or judgemental about Arya’s activities, Gendry felt protective of Arya nonetheless.

He stared out his bedroom window, half dressed and waiting for the sun to appear behind the horizon. It was like everything was heightened with her around. No matter how distant she was from him. The sun shined brighter, the air smelled fresher, the food tasted better. But the pain was also more than he could bare at times. Gendry could barely sleep from the burning of his skin, could barely breathe from worry when Arya wasn’t in his sights, and worse yet, all he thought about was her.

Her wildly braided hair and her mischievous smile and her calloused fingers from when he had touched her hand. When he managed to fall asleep, he would wake up gasping for breath, searching for Arya beside him in the cold bed and his heart would turn to stone in his chest when he didn’t feel her warmth beside him.

He sighed, no one would be awake at this hour and he didn’t want to bother any of the servants in the kitchens to make him breakfast when he didn’t feel hungry. There was just a gaping hole in his stomach, gnawing away at his appetite for anything.

The wedding was fast approaching, the last of the guests would be arriving within the week, including the King’s own sister, and the wedding would follow mere weeks after. And all Gendry could do was dread it. Not only was Joffrey Lannister a two-faced prick who thrived off of the attention he received by marrying Princess Rhaenys, but the sooner the wedding came, the sooner Arya would be leaving King’s Landing to return home to Winterfell.

There was an engagement banquet arranged for when Princess Daenerys finally arrived and Gendry wondered if Arya would speak to him then, if only out of courtesy. Could he stomach the rejection if he asked her to dance and she denied him?

Gendry didn’t know what had come over him, it was like all he could think and breathe and look for was Arya Stark. If this was what the soulmate bond did, Gendry wondered how Arya could survive so well without him when he was barely managing to take his next breath without her near.

He dug his fingers into his hair anxiously, the loud drum beats in his ears getting louder and louder. Gendry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the too bright light. He sat in the chair beside the elaborate window, trying to breath through the burning heat rushing over his skin. There was a knock on his door and Gendry groaned as he stood up on shaky legs.

Gendry rubbed at his temples, trying to make the ache go away. He pulled open the door, a request to be left alone ready for his usual servant on the tip of his tongue. But it wasn’t the young boy who brought him his breakfast or warmed his bath water.

It was the person who haunted him, in his dreams and his waking mind alike.

“Lady Arya?” She was standing not two feet from him and Gendry couldn’t believe his eyes. She was breathing heavily, like she had run from her rooms, holding her robe together as she shivered in the early morning breeze. Gendry stare at her, blue eyes wide. Arya was so small, delicate and nervous and Gendry felt like he could lift her up and carry her to safety. “Are you alright? Can I help you with-?”

“Can I come in?” she cut him off, her voice hitching. Gendry stepped aside, quickly ushering Arya inside his rooms to keep anyone from seeing her and starting horrible rumours about them. He took her in, she was standing in his space, surrounded by his discarded clothes and unmade bed. And she looked like she belonged.

She was beautiful, she had clearly just woken up. Dark chocolate hair hung loosely down her back, slightly curled ends going past her shoulders and falling past her pale face. She reminded him of snow- beautiful and glowing, and he was afraid that if he came closer, she would melt away and he would wake up in the chair next to his window. Alone.

“What can I do for you, My Lady?”

“Can you put on a shirt?” She flushed prettily and Gendry hurried to shrug on a shirt and not upset or make his soulmate anymore uncomfortable. “We need to talk about this…” Arya breathed deeply, biting her lip before blurting out, “About the soulmate bond.”

Gendry jerked around to face her, not knowing how to react but hopeful. “Yes, I think we should. Please, sit down, Lady Arya.” he gestured to the table and pair of chairs by the window. Arya walked slowly but surely to the closest chair, sitting primly and crossing her legs.

“Stop calling me that. It’s just Arya.” she shivered and Gendry reached up to shut the window, locking it before he was satisfied that Arya would warm up.

“Arya,” he whispered. Arya’s mouth dropped open before she quickly shut it with a snap, looking away and sighing.

“Can you please sit down? It’s making me feel like I’m in some sort of trouble with you looming over me like that.” Gendry muttered an apology under his breath before sitting opposite from her. He intertwined his fingers together, leaning forward to lean his arms on his knees. Just waiting for her to speak. “It hurts,” she whispered.

Gendry slid out of his chair, knees digging into the stone floor. The floor was chilling but Gendry didn’t care, he just wanted to be close to her, to comfort her. He stared up at her, his heart wrenching at the tears building in her eyes. Without thinking, Gendry reached up to brush hair away from her face. “What hurts?”

Gendry knew that if anyone had touched a hair on her head, he would kill them. He wouldn’t think twice about it and that thought scared him half to death. He knew, without a doubt, that the longer he spent with Arya Stark, the more he would do for her. Gendry was wrapped around her little finger and she hadn’t been in his life more than a week.

What would a month with her be like? What would a lifetime be?

Would she let him have a lifetime or was she going to continue pulling away from him?

He couldn’t imagine never feeling the warm skin against his fingers now that he had touched her. He couldn’t imagine hearing anyone else’s voice whispering to him in the early mornings. Gendry could feel Arya shiver and he moved closer on instinct.

“Everything,” Arya leaned into his touch and Gendry felt the heat from her skin seep into his hand. She shut her eyes, reaching out her hands to grip the fabric at his collar and pulled him closer. “Everything hurts. Why does it hurt, Gendry, please tell me how you stay so strong?”

“I think of you,” Arya’s eyes opened and he was lost in the loveliest colour he had ever seen. They were the same colour as the steel he melted back in his forge in Storm’s End. “When it hurts, I think of your smile and your voice. I think of you and it goes away.”

“But you barely know me.” she sniffed. “This- this connection is all we share. I could be an airheaded bitch and you could be a drunkard and a fool. You wouldn’t know, _ I _wouldn’t know any better and that’s my point. We don’t know anything about each other, Gendry. And even though I know nothing about you, all I think about is you and it doesn’t make any sense.”

Gendry swallowed the bile in his throat. He didn’t want Arya, or anyone, to think about him like a drunk, like his father, but she was right, they didn’t know each other yet. How could Arya know that he was nothing like his father? They knew nothing about each other, all Gendry knew about her was what he could find out in Court and what he felt from their bond. He wondered if it was the same for her. Or maybe she knew even less because she had gone to such lengths to avoid him.

“I can feel you, night and day,” He gently took one of her hands from where she clutched at his shirt, pressing it gently over his heart. “Right here. I do not want this connection to be all I share with you. I want to get to know you, Arya, I want to know everything about you. And I pray to whichever Gods are looking down on us, that the feeling is mutual.”

Arya spread her fingers underneath the fabric of his tunic and Gendry knew she could feel his heart beat faster under her palm. Arya stared at his chest before blinking up at him with innocent eyes. “I’m scared.”

“What scares you?”

Arya wasn’t crying anymore, she was just looking at him like he wasn’t real. Gendry wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Did she see the same thing he did when he looked at her? Someone who had the potential and will to make him happier than he had ever been or someone who could ruin him.

“I’m not a Lady. I don’t know how to be one and I don’t want to pretend to be one. I don’t wear dresses unless under duress and my table manners are worse than my baby brother’s. I have a fully grown wolf attached at my hip and any children I spend time with end up more ill tempered than before I met them.” she ranted. “The only thing I’m good at is riding and fighting and acting like another son to my father rather than a daughter.”

He shook his head immediately. “I’m not asking you to pretend to be anything other than exactly who you are. I’m not exactly the perfect Lord or gentleman,” Gendry smiled. “I want to know who you are if you will allow me.”

“I will let you if you promise me that you won’t do anything stupid like asking my father to court me or announcing your intentions,” she rolled her eyes. “And no declarations of any kind or I go back to pretending like you don’t exist.”

Gendry paled. “I won’t. I promise. I won’t do anything to upset you.”

“And don’t do that.” Arya pleaded. “Please don’t treat me like someone you can’t be yourself with or think you can’t speak your mind to.”

“Alright, I’ll speak my mind.” Arya nodded eagerly. “I think you walk like a duck.”

She laughed, deep and full and genuine. “I walk like a what?”

“A duck! You waddle around and it looks ridiculous and adorable.” Gendry grinned as he watched her, watching the unknown and fear slip away from her face as she giggled. “And you get this pout on your lips when you’re upset,” his eyes dropped to her smile and he gulped. “Like you’ve eaten something sour and it looks…”

The smile dripped off her lips and Gendry couldn’t take his eyes away. Arya leaned forward slightly, and Gendry held his breath. “It looks?” she breathed against his chin.

“Completely,” his nose nudged hers and her forehead dropped to rest against hers. “And utterly,” her eyelashes fluttered closed, tickling his cheekbones and Gendry’s breath stuttered to a halt. “Breathtakingly beautiful.”

“You think so? You don’t think it’s reminiscent of a horse?” Gendry had a second to register the question before every thought, every memory had disappeared. All that was left was the sweet press of soft lips against his and the bright light of the rising sun behind his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I write slow burns, like “hey it’s chapter 15 and they haven’t even said hello yet” slow burns but this story ended up having a lot of weird plot inspiration and I’ve been wanting to write a good smut to plot ratio story, so here it is - a surprisingly fast paced story with a lot of gendrya smut and fluff and drama


	4. Sweet Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'd like to apologize for dropping off the face of the earth, google docs went ahead and deleted a bunch of my things including this fully written story... so I've had to start rewriting it and I'm very upset about it and it's making it hard to rewrite but I'm doing my best.
> 
> I’m sorry for any and all mistakes, I don’t have a beta and sometimes mistakes just slip through.

* * *

**~Arya Stark~**

His lips were chapped and he tasted almost sugary sweet. Gendry gently pushed his lips back against hers, unsurely and Arya saw a silver light building behind her eyelids. Her hands reached around his neck and Arya moved to the edge of her seat. She needed to be closer to him. To her soulmate, because that’s who Gendry Baratheon was.

Her soulmate. She was touching her soulmate, she was kissing her soulmate. And it felt wonderful, like little shocks travelling over her body.

Gendry’s hands dropped to rest on her legs and Arya felt the warmth from his hands bleed into her early morning chilled body, a body that was heating up higher and higher with every slow press of his lips. Her fingers dug into his hair, it was soft and silky and Arya pulled at the strands to bring him closer.

Distantly, Arya realized that this was her first kiss. But she wasn’t nervous like she used to think she would be, she felt safe with him. She knew that no matter how inexperienced she was, Gendry would take care of her. It was strange, Arya barely knew Gendry but it felt like she had spent her whole life knowing him, caring about him.

She nipped his bottom lip and Gendry’s hand tightened on her knee. His mouth opened slightly under the attention of her teeth and Arya’s tongue quickly swiped at his bottom lip. She swept inside carefully, looking for more of his sweetness.

His head turned carefully, nose bumping lightly against hers. His tongue tangled with hers and Arya breathed deeply through her nose, inhaling his scent. He reminded her of cold nights burrowed underneath her furs with Nymeria, it felt comfortable and like she wanted to fall into him and not get up again.

She felt heat down to her bones, warming her stomach and flushing her face. Gendry’s chest was pressed against hers and she could feel his erratic breathing as her fingers played with the strands of hair at the base of his neck. Even with the building heat, it was still slow, gentle.

Arya leaned more forcefully against him, trying to move her lips as desperately for him as she felt. Then, just like the split second decision that had led her to his rooms this early in nothing but her nightgown, Gendry was suddenly ripped away from her, quickly moving to lean against the bedpost with no explanation.

She stood up, anchoring herself to the edge of the table and trying to stand still enough to steady her shaking legs. “Why did you stop?”

“It’s not proper.” he breathed. “You’re a Lady, even if you don’t act or like to think of yourself as one,” he added. “But I cannot disgrace you by pawing at you like an animal. Especially in our state of dress and-”

“Gendry!” He shut his mouth and Arya relished in the way colour lifted to the apples of his cheeks. “I am entirely capable of making my own decisions, even if those choices are letting you _ paw _ at me in my nightclothes or whatever else I damn well please.”

“But if anyone were to walk in and saw our position,” he gestured towards where he had been kneeling between her legs, kissing her. “There would be rumours and questions and your reputation would be ruined and your family would think I was taking advantage of you and-”

“Breathe! First things,” Arya marched to the door to his rooms, flipping the lock securely to make sure no one could enter. “Does that take care of all your worries?”

“Not all of them,” he muttered under his breath. “Arya, I don’t want to dishonour you and you’re making it very difficult right now.” His eyes drop from hers, leisurely falling down until he was looking at the floor and Arya glanced at herself.

From the time she had entered his rooms to the time she had locked the door, the tie at her waist has unknotted and her robe was parted to reveal her shift underneath. It had been a gift from Princess Arianne after she had visited Winterfell some years ago, the two of them had kept in touch and they occasionally exchanged presents such as the rich silk Arya wore now. It was a lovely light colour and the collar dipped down to tease her breasts, something she never thought she would appreciate as much as she did now.

Gendry shifted his feet, determined to be a gentleman and keep her modesty. Arya ran her fingers over the sleeve and reaching up a hand to touch her hair. It didn’t feel too messy, not since she had run a brush through her braid that morning and that was a small comfort. There was a hint of self consciousness in the back of her mind, a little voice telling her this wasn’t a good idea, one that sounded suspiciously like her mother.

Arya reached out to the soulmate bond, closing her eyes as she felt around the seemingly vibrating space between them and there it was, serenely untouched. A silver line wrapped around her and stretched easily to envelope Gendry as well, the line unending and perfectly content. She touched it with her mind, hearing the sharp inhale from Gendry as the silver thread hummed between them, alive and wanting.

Opening her eyes, Arya watched Gendry. He was standing stockstill next to the bed, flexing his hands nervously at his side. Shrugging her shoulders out of the robe, Arya felt the fabric race down her back and legs, pooling at her feet. She took a step towards Gendry, feeling the soulmate bond burn with fiery approval with each step she took towards him.

The rational part of her wondered if this was just the soulmate bond telling her to go to Gendry, to wrap herself around him, to have him inside her and to let herself fall under his irresistible spell. But she also knew that this wasn’t just the soulmate bond.

Her brother and cousin liked him. They laughed with him and sparred with him and he hadn’t said a word against what she liked to do. Not the riding or swords or unladylike dress. He just accepted her for who she was, no second thoughts about the soulmate bond somehow making a mistake and giving him a wild wolf rather than a proper lady.

And she liked that.

She liked feeling like she didn’t have to be afraid of the tattoo on her shoulder blade, she liked knowing that the man who matched her mark was kind and strong and wouldn’t try to change her. That he liked her family for the wild animals they were too.

Arya was standing in front of him, less than a metre, he could easily reach out and touch her, kiss her, take her. But Gendry stubbornly stared at his feel, shoulders tense and jaw locked. That was what truly told her she wasn’t making a mistake, he could have tried to do whatever he pleased with her, could have taken her breath with his kiss and her innocence with his touch. Instead he tried to keep to propriety, to not scare her away.

“Gendry,” her voice was soft and she placed her hands on his shoulders delicately. His breath hitched and his rough hands wrapped around her hips, the thin silk enhancing the touch of his fingers. “Are you scared?”

“Yes,” he lifted his head and Arya was lost in the deep blue looking at her so sweetly. “You scare me, Arya Stark.” his fingers dug into her skin.

“I scare you?” she ran her fingers over his jaw, running her thumb over the slight stubble.

He nodded seriously, “More than you know.”

“How? I’m smaller and weaker than you. If you so wished, you could pick me up and carry me on your shoulder like a sack of potatoes to wherever you wanted.” A little part of Arya hoped he would then she wouldn’t have to continue to explain to everyone why she was staring into nothing for hours at a time, searching for him.

Gendry breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not afraid of you like I am of, say, your father, who would definitely chop me in two if he knew what I wanted to do to his daughter. You scare me more. Death by you wouldn’t be quick at all.”

“This isn’t helping my chances of getting anymore of your clothing off, but if my father walked in on this,” she intertwined her fingers behind his head, standing on her toes to look him in the eyes fully. “Your death wouldn’t be quick at all.”

Gendry groaned, arms fully wrapped around her waist and Arya smiled softly at how nicely she fit into his embrace. “You’re right about it not helping your chance-”

She surged up on her toes, urgently pressing her lips to his. A wave of uncontrollable heat flooded her body, shivers traveling up her hips from his hands to her soulmate mark. A gluttonous moan fell from her throat, the sound swallowed by Gendry’s burning lips. Her fingers grabbed onto his hair, anchoring herself to him as her body rocked forward.

His mouth was hot and demanding, nothing like the soft touches from their first kiss. Arya liked this more, the need and pressing fingers.

In a single breath, Gendry had knelt down and picked her up from the floor. A small squeak left her and she pulled away from his lips, Arya laughed against his cheek. He pulled back from her, searching her face for any sigh of regret or fear. Finding nothing but a radiant smile, he bumped his nose against hers with a growing smile.

Her ankles locked around his hips, elbows balanced on his shoulders. His hands held her up by her thighs, hefting her up more comfortably against him.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” his thumbs moved in small circles on her thighs. Arya tried not to show the shocks the movement sent through her body, sparking the growing ache between her thighs. A deep red flush burning her chest.

Pulling herself closer, Arya sighed as her peaked nipples rubbed against Gendry’s shirt and her centre pressed against the bulge in his trousers. Arya wished there was nothing between them. All she wanted was to feel his skin against hers. “Like what?”

He jostled her and Arya wrapped herself around his tighter, pouting at him. “Like the wolf who caught the rabbit.”

“Only a rabbit?” she nipped his jaw up to his ear. “I was hoping for a stag.”

“Cheeky, My Lady.” he turned on his heels, back towards the bed before dropping onto the mattress. Her knees dug into the blankets and Arya was pressed into him, the indent of his clothed cock in the crevice of her thighs.

“I thought we talked about you calling me-” she broke off with a moan. Gendry steadied her with his hands, holding onto her hips tightly, moving her against him. Creating the most lovely friction against her core.

Her nightgown had ridden up, only held down by his hands as he continued to grind against her with a torturous pace. Arya’s fingers moved deftly, pulling at the strings of his tunic, yanking it off his shoulders.

“Are you sure about this?” his rough fingers grazed the hem of her dress.

“If you keep talking my yes is going to turn into a no,” Gendry’s face scrunched up and Arya sighed, shoulders dropping. “Yes, I’m sure. And I know you feel lordly asking me constantly if I’m alright and if I’m sure, but if you’re inside me and ask,” she growled. “I will actually set Nymeria on you.”

“I just want to make sure that you don’t regret this.” Gendry gestures between them with his hand and Arya misses the warmth on the thigh until his hand drops back into its proper place.

“You’re my soulmate,” her fingers drop to his shoulder blade where she can see the edges of ink from her position. “I trust you not to hurt me or take my virtue as a jest.”

“I would _ never _,” His voice is threatening but Arya knows the threat isn’t meant for her. Gendry pulls her closer, protectively. “You’re my soulmate, my Arya.”

Her eyes snap away from where she was watching her fingers form senseless shapes into his shoulder. “Oh, I’m yours now?” she teased.

When their eyes meet, Arya’s breath catches. His eyes were wide, the blue swallowed in lust and darkened to an almost black. His fingers moved underneath her nightgown, stopping at the small of her back to push her impossibly closer to him. “Mine.”

His lips were molten heat, burning against hers. Arya breathed deeply, her nose filled with the scent of him. Gendry was rough hands and demanding teeth, he was tanned skin and unruly hair, he was soft groans and playful nips.

Arya gave as good as she got.

Her hands pulled him just as hard, her tongue and teeth searching just as longingly. Gendry’s hands pulled the last piece of her decency around her waist and Arya held up her arms, an expectant twitch in her bruised lips. Not waiting for further prompting, Gendry yanked them fabric unceremoniously up and over her head, leaving Arya blessedly naked.

She waited impatiently, deep blush over her face and chest and rosey lips searching for breath, as Gendry studied her. For a moment she flashed to sewing lessons with Septa Mordane, listening to Jeyne and Sansa tell her she was too plain and had much more in common with a horse than a girl. But Gendry wasn’t looking at her like he was disappointed in her, his soulmate, she reminded herself. He looked at her like she was a delicate glass ornament, meant to be treasured and taken great care of.

Nothing like the looks Sansa and Jeyne said men would have in moments of passion, they had described horror stories of bedding ceremonies filled with old, looming faces and bloody sheets and _ pain _. But in Gendry’s arms, with his awestruck expression staring up at her, Arya couldn’t imagine anything scary about him or what they were doing.

It all felt so _ right _.

“Are you going to stare at me like this for much longer?.“

“All I can think of at this precise moment,” he started, reaching up to graze her breast, squeezing it in his hand gently. “Is that my soulmate is naked in my bedchamber and I am going to appreciate the moment as if it was my last.”

“If you don’t make quick work of your trousers,” he pressed into her peaked nipple and Arya’s teeth bit into her lip at the strange shock the touch sent through her. “It may very well be.”

His head dropped forward, lips wrapping around her nipple, other hand moving to her neglected breast. He licked at her chest and Arya couldn’t help the slow grind of her hips, seeking friction. Shifting her, Gendry dropped her back into the bed, resting her head on the pillow as his mouth continued to lick and suck at her tits.

His hips fell nestled in her legs and Arya relished the feeling of his clothed cock pressing against the place that yearned for his touch.

She hadn’t noticed when his hand snakes down her body, pausing on her inner thigh. Gendry’s fingers parted her and Arya’s head fell back, a gasp caught in her throat. His fingers slid back and forth over her, never entering but teasing her into frustration. All the while, his mouth placed kisses and unexpected bites over her breasts.

“Gendry?” His head lifted, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “ Your hand.”

His forefinger teased her entrance and Arya’s legs automatically parted more. “What about my hand,” he lifted the hand from her breast. “It hasn’t done anything.”

“Not-“ his finger slipped inside her minutely, stopping at the second knuckle and Arya’s lids fluttered closed. “Not that one. The-“ Gendry pushes further, the whole digit buried inside her. “The one between my legs.”

“What about it?” His breath warmed her cheek and she opened her eyes. Gendry pulled his finger out and Arya suddenly felt _ empty _, before he pushed it back inside and she sighed at the feeling. But she wanted more.

“Can you put in two?” His eyebrows rose but on the next thrust of his finger, Arya felt the stretch and thickness of another being pushed carefully into her. When they were fully in, Arya felt the sweet completion of having him inside her. For a moment. Then it wasn’t enough again. “More, gods, more please.”

She caught a flash of shock on his face before her eyes fell shut again, liking the feeling of his two fingers coming in and out. _ In and out, in and out _. They were thick and long and rough. Not the hands of a lord, they were the hands of a blacksmith.

He kissed her fast, unlike the speed of his fingers and Arya dug her fingers into his hair. Her leg rose on its own, wrapping around his waist and dragging him closer to her burning body.

“I asked for more,” she growled against his lips.

His hand stopped and Arya felt the tip of his third finger aligned at her entrance. “I don’t want to hurt you. I can hardly believe you’re taking two of my fingers like this.”

“You won’t hurt me unless you leave me like this.” She could taste him against her lips. “Wanting more. _ Needing _ more. Gendry,” Arya begged. “Please.”

He groaned against her throat and Arya’s hands dropped to the sheets, twisting it in her fingers as three of his slowly made their way deep, _ deeper _ inside her quaking core.

She felt full, his cock wasn’t inside her yet and she already felt like she would burst from three of his fingers. Arya’s back arched, her soft chest pressing against his hard one, as he beckoned his fingers, his other hand finding hers in the sheet and locking their fingers together. She squeezed his hand as he slowly drew out and back in.

“Arya,” he growled into her ear and Arya swore she could see stars as his voice wrapped around her. “You’re taking my fingers so well, love.” He thrust them in harder. “You’re so tight and wet. Gods, I want to fuck you.”

“Then do it.”

Gendry pulled his hand away from her and Arya whimpered at the loss. “I shouldn’t-“

“But you’re going to.” Her hand already undoing the ties keeping him in his trousers and reaching inside to wrap her small hand around his length. “Because I want you to. And you want to. And you’re _ my _ soulmate.”

His eyes flashed silver at the word, chest heaving and Arya marveled at the change. “My soulmate.” He kicked his trousers off and settled back between her legs. “Say it again, please.”

“My soulmate,” she whispered as the head of his cock was coated in her arousal.

“Again, Arya, tell me again.” Gendry guided himself to her entrance, stopping to look at her expectantly and she knew he needed to hear it as much as she wanted to say it.

“You’re my soulmate.” His fingers tightened against hers and she held onto him just as hard. “My soulmate. You’re mine. Mine, Gendry.”

She met his lips with need, with affection. Over and over he imprinted himself into her lips. Slowly his cock inched inside her, but all Arya felt was the slight stretch of her pussy taking him in. No pain yet and she locked her ankles above his ass, happily pushing him further. The more of him she took, the more Arya was convinced he was fully inside her, and yet he would give another shallow thrust and more of him would click into place inside her.

“Mine,” Gendry said against her swollen lips. “How are you real?”

“How are you?” She countered softly, her thumb touching his cheek, his jaw, his nose. Moving like he would turn to dust if she stopped.

Gendry met resistance inside her and his fingers reached up to knot in her hair. “This is going to hurt, but we can stop if it’s too much.”

Arya shook her head, “I don’t want to stop.”

There was a feeling of something ripping inside her and they froze. Arya took a few deep breaths, trying to look past the sting and ache. Gendry kissed her face- over the bridge of her nose, the dip in her chin, the hollows of her cheeks, her wrinkled brow, her pouting lips. Anything he could reach without moving his body.

She blinked her eyes open, “Are you okay, love?”

“I think so?” Arya scrunched up her face in thought. “It doesn’t feel the way I’ve been told it does. Not the way I thought.”

“What were you told?”

“That it would feel like getting ripped in half. There was the mention of a lot of blood and more than a little discomfort.” His features twisted in horror. “But it doesn’t feel like that!” Arya rushes to reassure him. “It’s like riding a horse after falling off. A little sore and unpleasant but not bad or horrendously painful.”

“It will get better once I move, when you’re ready,” thinking for a moment, Arya nodded and nudged her hips up. “If it hurts, you tell me and we stop. Understand?”

“I’ll tell you,” she repeated, sealing her promise with a quick kiss. “Happy now?”

“More than happy,” Arya giggled at the dopey look he had. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she smiled up at him. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He drew out and Arya missed him immediately. Her insides feeling like an empty void, needing him to be filled. “Because I think you’re quite lovely.”

She wanted to say something back, tell him he was imagining things because Arya Horseface Stark was _ not _ lovely. But he snapped his hips, impaling her to the hilt and all that came out of Arya’s mouth was an obnoxiously loud moan. He had been right, the ache had melted away into pleasure with every thrust and soon, it was gone completely.

“Gendry!” the cry cut through the sound of his breathy groans and the slap of skin. Arya felt the build up of a coil inside her, getting tighter with every jerk of his hips and cock.

Gendry hiked her legs up, digging his knees into the mattress as he went faster and faster, deeper, harder. _ Better _. The coil inside her stomach ready to tear her apart.

Her nails scratched at his back, leaving behind strips of long cuts down his skin. “You are mine, Gendry Baratheon. _ Mine _.”

“You are mine, love,” he echoed. Eyes the colour of melted silver, a beautiful steel reflected back at him in her own eyes.

And then Arya was submerged. She was weightless, floating away from the ground and the bed and everything else. All there was was bliss and Gendry. Distantly she heard someone call out her name and a weight on her chest but nothing could hold her. The feeling of pleasure ebbed away, leaving behind satisfaction and a distinct, sticky fullness.

“I was right,” Gendry gasped finally and she turned to him, not yet able to speak. “You felt absolutely amazing. Like a fucking dream, Arya.”

“A dream?” Her voice cracked and Arya swallowed, hugging him closer. “If I wake up in my bed right now, I’ll be very unhappy.”

“Me too.”

He was still inside her but soft and Arya liked it nonetheless. Gendry tried to pull himself away, not to crush her under his weight. But Arya didn’t like the thought of being empty or cold without him covering her.

“What are you doing?” She bit out.

“I thought-“

“Well, you thought wrong.” Her legs tightened and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “We’re staying like this until  _ I _ decide otherwise. And I’ll have no arguments from you.”

Grinning at her, Gendry reached to pull the blanket over them, burrowing happily into her. “As if I would argue with my soulmate.

“My Gendry Baratheon.” Arya found herself smiling back. “I found you.”

“To be fair, you found me and then avoided me like I was just another highborn lordling vying for your attention and not your  _ soulmate _ ,” he rose his eyebrows. “Want to talk a little more about why you did that?”

“Not particularly,” she grumbled.

“Arya, I want to know why my soulmate wanted nothing to do with me. Was it something I did? Something I didn’t say or something I  _ did _ ?”


End file.
